


The one thing I can't do

by Mtraverandujar



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 14:01:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17551034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mtraverandujar/pseuds/Mtraverandujar
Summary: Some things cannot be asked.





	1. The arrival

**Author's Note:**

> There is a reunion between Bill and Laura I always missed as much as the one after New Caprica: her return after being held hostage on the basestar (Revelations). This is my take. I hope you enjoy it!

 

'Welcome on board, Madame President.'

From under the open hatch of the raptor, Laura Roslin scans the small crowd with her eyes. A few crew members and a couple of government representatives have gathered to receive the released hostages, one of which is, notably, the President of the Colonies. As soon as she sees herself surrounded by  _Galactica_ 's familiar forms, colors and sounds, she feels the adrenaline kick out like a withdrawing tide. A thick cloud of exhaustion descends over her. Her eyes adjust gradually to the much clearer light of the hangar deck. She recognizes a few faces. A bunch of technicians in their jumpsuits roam around like busy, bright orange ants attending to their tasks, oblivious to the relevance of the moment.

She is searching for one familiar face, eager to recognize one very specific set of traits. However, she cannot spot him. He is nowhere to be seen.

Laura bites back the momentary disappointment and walks down the stairs. When she is close enough, she leans on the arm that Lee Adama offers her. She sets foot on the deck.

She smiles at him.

'Thank you.'

Lee nods formally.

She shakes the hand of the two government representatives that hurriedly come over to welcome her. Besides them, most people around are paying no attention. Honestly, she likes it much better this way: a discrete arrival that does not distract people from their duties and hopefully gives her some space. She had even memorized a short speech just in case, but given the low expectancy that there seems to be around the return of the missing President in this very moment, she is more than glad to give it up entirely.

'May I escort you to the Admiral's quarters? He's waiting for you there.'

'Of course.'

They start walking, her hand folded around Lee's elbow. She is grateful for the support, for the company; for seeing at least one familiar face upon her return. However, she would never have expected for it to be Lee's. Something feels off about all this. Something is off about him not being there. As much as she knows Bill would rather die than leave his duties unattended, something serious must be going on if it is keeping him from being there in person to welcome the released hostages.

To welcome her.

She hears her own voice come out with a hint of anxiety. She does not give a frak.

'What's going on, Lee? Is anything wrong?"

The rhythmic echoes of their steps on the deck all but emphasize the heaviness of the silence as her former Captain Apollo takes his sweet time before answering.

'It's better if he tells you.' He mutters at last. He turns his face to her. 'Don't worry, he's fine.'

Something dark clutches at her chest. She does not prompt Lee further, though. She is going to find out in a matter of minutes; she is going to see Bill again and he will explain everything to her, just as Lee says. Whatever it is, it cannot be that bad if Bill himself can inform her, right? The thought that she was able to inform him herself about her cancer, no less, crosses her mind. The fact that he can tell her himself does not necessarily mean it is trivial. She ignores this realization. She sets her jaw and keeps walking; there is ill-restrained haste to her strides now. Suddenly, the corridor seems much longer. She finds herself praying for the next fleet crisis.  _Please, let it not be personal. Let it not be about him._

'After you.' Lee invites her to enter Bill's quarters, nodding to the guard that opens the hatch for them.

Laura stays standing there, two steps into the room, as Lee shuts the hatch behind her. She looks around. The silence is deafening. One lamp switched on in a corner, casting a yellowish glow over the objects around, is the only light allowing her make out forms and colors.

'He's probably sleeping.' Lee suggests.

Laura turns to him, a brow arched. Getting back to a sleeping Admiral somehow is more concerning than finding him taking care of who knows what awful crisis.

Lee walks into his private area. Laura waits outside: there is no need to make it evident that she is, indeed, rather familiar with that area of the Admiral's quarters too.

After a few seconds, Lee comes back. He looks her in the eye and nods.

'He's asleep on his rack. But you can wait here if you want. Then you can talk when he wakes up.'

'Lee.'

There is a warning in her voice; it's her don't-frak-with-me tone. He should have known that his pretended casualness had little to no chances to fool Laura Roslin. His shoulders slump down in reluctant acceptance that he will not get away with this: he won't be allowed to leave these quarters without telling her more.

He bows his head, defeated. When did he turn so protective of his dad anyway?

But this is Laura. It is someone he knows and, admittedly, respects despite everything. It is the woman his father loves. And she… she seems to love him too. Or at least she looks genuinely concerned; she seems to care. He hopes Bill will not mind it if he discloses a little more to her.

'You were… abducted in that basestar. He waited for you. All alone, floating in the void. You could have been dead; it was a desperate move. One of denial, if you ask me. He just couldn't accept that you may be gone for good. He had to believe you'd make it. And he was right: against all odds, you came back. You did, but only to be held hostage in a ship we probably would have to blow up. Meanwhile, he found out Saul is a cylon. I guess you grasp the shock this means to him. He…' Lee shrugs, shakes his head. 'He just broke. Couldn't handle it anymore. I came here, found him, took care of him. Told him I'd take over, told him not to worry. I promised him I'd bring you back safely. Cottle gave him a strong sedative not so long ago; that's why he is sleeping now.'

Lee meets Laura's eyes again. This is it. Nothing more, nothing less.  _Dad reached his breaking point; shit went one step too far. There is only so much he can take. He has already taken way more than most people would be capable of. He did the unthinkable for you. So please, don't judge his weakness. Don't judge him. Please just be there for him._

Laura stays silent. Her eyes have narrowed as she drank in each of Lee's words. Her anxiety is replaced by a measure of relief and something else: something made of warmth and ache, of joy and longing. Bill is well, Bill broke at last. Bill broke and she feels the urge to run to his rack and hug his sleeping form, envelope him in all the love she is feeling; make up to him for her absence, for her ruthless order, for how close he was to losing her for good, yet again. Make him feel safe. Her throat is so thick she is having trouble getting air past it.

'Gods.' She finally chokes out.

Lee relaxes: this reaction from Roslin is the right one; the one he wanted to see. He gives her a small smile.

'He will be happy to find you here when he wakes up.' He pauses. 'You'll wait, right?'

Laura nods, her eyes watery.

'Of course I will. I… I'll be by his side when he wakes.'

Lee hums in approval. It's good to know Laura Roslin will be up to what his father deserves. It's good to know he is leaving him in good hands.

'Just… take all the time you need. I'll handle everything in the meantime. I'll let you know if it's absolutely necessary.'

He smiles a little wider; the sharp edge in his eyes softens.

'I'm happy you two have each other.'

He is ready to leave. He turns to the hatch.

'Lee.'

He stops and shoots her a questioning look over his shoulder.

'Thank you for looking after him. Thank you for saving us, and for' Laura swallows. 'Thank you for bringing me back here.'

Lee stays still for a moment. He looks at her in earnest.

'He loves you.'

So many things contained in those three simple words. It is an explanation; the statement of a fact, an acknowledgement, and expression of gratitude; it is his explicit approval, a request, even a warning.

'I can't live without her'. That's what he said when I confronted him.'

Lee's tone is the verbalization of a shrug.  _I'm still not sure I understand what you two have or what he did, but I accept it. Just don't frakking hurt him, okay?_

Laura bites her lower lip; the corners of her mouth twitch upwards.

As the hatch closes in front of her, she lifts a hand absentmindedly and wipes a tear off her cheek.


	2. While you sleep

As soon as she is alone, Laura spins the wheel of the hatch to secure it. She wants no intruders, no disturbance whatsoever. Then she lays her hand on the bulkhead for balance and she kicks off her shoes. She leaves them right there, neatly placed by the door. The rug scratches her plants; it feels rough and warm. She turns around, facing the room.

Here she is. At last. With him.

She releases a breath she was not aware she was holding. She allows herself a moment to let everything sink in. Right there, around the corner, beyond the dim glow of the lamp, there is Bill. He is sleeping, resting at last, oblivious to all the developments that took place in the last hours. Oblivious to the fact that she is back.

Silently, she walks in, pads her way across the room in the direction of his rack.

She is about to see him at last. This Bill, this broken man she has yet to be acquainted with… Will she notice any new scars on his skin? Will she sense a change in him, even asleep? Will he have a different air about him when he wakes up? How far gone is he in his despair? She swings between apprehension and anticipation as she approaches the rack, her heart thumping fast inside her chest.

She sits on the edge of the rack carefully, trying not to make the thin mattress dip under her weight, trying to avoid anything that may disturb his repose. She watches him.

She watches his quiet breath, air sliding in and out between his parted lips, until her own synchronizes with his. There is a small frown between Bill's brows: maybe his dreams are not quite as peaceful as they should, as she wishes for them to be. Sometimes you cannot escape your ghosts, not even in dreams. She knows that all too well. With her glance, she maps his worry lines, his marred skin, his heavy lids… She wants to kiss them all, love all his miseries away. The sole thought of Bill too broken and helpless to even hold himself up fills her with a certainty which is both frightening and liberating: nothing matters most than helping this man's heart heal, than soothing his soul. Nothing: not even humanity's fate, the cylon threat, the extinction of mankind, Earth, or the way her cancer is eating her up alive from the inside. If there is one thing she just learned from the visions that hit her aboard that basestar is that nothing is worth a frak if she cannot attend to the essential: the drive to love, the human heart.

Hers. His.

She outstretches one hand. With her forefinger, she traces the lines and planes of his profile in the air, not quite touching him, afraid to wake him. She leaves her hand there, suspended over his bare shoulder. After a few seconds, she withdraws it.

'Bill.' She whispers, almost inaudible even to herself, hoping he will hear her in his dreams.

It is a word of wonder; her very own, personal prayer, her faith, her book of Pythia; the most essential truth in her existence. He is the beginning and the end of everything she knows about herself, everything that matters of the woman she has become at the end of the world. There is nothing in her that cannot be traced back to him in some way. Even her past life was leading her up to this moment, to this man, to the woman she has grown into, despite him at first, then alongside him; she can see it so clearly now.

This tenderness might make her burst, such is the effort it takes her to contain it.

_Bill, it's okay. I'm back. I'm here, and I'll wait. Just rest now._

She lets out a quiet, ragged breath.

Slowly, she stands up and walks over to the couch. Barefoot, still dressed, wig on, she lies down and lays her head on the cushion. She shifts her weight searching for a comfortable position. Her lids fall shut; the rumble of Bill's breath and  _Galactica_ 's engines lulls her.

Home.

She lets herself dream of the feel of Bill's arms holding her tight; of his warm, solid body to which she can cling when everything else around her crumbles. She evokes his tender gaze bathing her as he walked off that raptor, basks in the peace the memory creates for her. She lets her mind bring her back to his  _About time_ , complicit and affectionate: just two words to make her understand that he would always be there for and with her, until the end of time. That he had always been, that he expected nothing. That he knew, too; even if she would not let herself fall with him, even when she was still trying to resist the pull of a love stronger than them. That it meant so much for him to hear her say it nevertheless. That he loved her; that yes, it could really be that simple, in the middle of all this staggering complexity.

She remembers the burn of her own tears and how she no longer gave a frak about them as he watched her closely, like he was discovering her for the first time. She remembers the softness of his lips against her temple, the strength of his arms claiming her to him, creating a safe harbor for her to finally let go.

She would have scolded herself for this just a couple of days ago: it would have seemed such an unforgivable weakness to let her sweetest memories carry her away, such a big risk to be awash with sensations. Right now, she knows those memories are exactly the place to go to find the peace she craves, the strength she needs to keep going. She could have picked other moments to recall: his first kiss, their night on the sandbags, his voice reading to her, his admission that he loves her laugh, his warm palm stroking her hair as he held her when she got back from New Caprica. He has given her so much to choose among, really. But this, their reunion aboard the basestar… she has not had the chance to get back there yet. These memories are precious. She relives every second, stores it safely in her memory.

As she gets more and more lost in her world of emotions, fatigue catches up with her at last.

Slowly, Laura drifts off to sleep.


	3. The one thing I can't do.

Bill parts his lids. He blinks with effort a couple of times trying to get his quarters back into focus: his sight is abnormally blurry. Impatient, he grunts and lifts his head only for a sharp pain to pierce his temples. He lets his head fall back down on the pillow.

And he remembers.

He remembers, and suddenly the prospect of getting up looks way harder and less desirable. With his eyes closed, he lets all the memories come back. He sees himself hitting the bulkhead with his fists, rolling on the floor, screaming out his lungs. The certainty that he could take no more; his best friend suddenly turned the enemy he had been fighting his whole life; the woman he loved, the love of his life, Laura, a hostage in a ship about to be blown up, mere hours after admitting her love for him… Everything comes back to him in a flood. Bill presses his lids shut as his entire face contracts.

He still does not think he can take it.

The last image he can produce is one of his own son picking up his messy, shattered self off the deck; everything else after that is lost in a cloud of slumber he is not sure he will be able to shake off so easily.

He moves again, more carefully this time. He rolls over and lets his legs hang off the rack; their weight gives him some leverage to sit up at last. He waits for the dizziness to fade away. What the frak is going on? He feels his own desperation as a muffled echo of what his mind remembers feeling. Why is he so numb?

He figures out. Sedatives. Looking down, he searches his arm for traces of needles. He finds one. He groans, buries his face in his big palm.

Laying a hand on the bulkhead, he rises slowly. Once he is sure he can stay upright, he ventures one step, then another. He lets his supporting hand fall and makes it three.

He is walking.

His throat is sore as frak. Some water is what he needs first; maybe splashing some of it on his face will succeed in waking him up. He proceeds to the head dragging his feet across the rug. He feels heavier than a grounded battlestar.

It is only then, as he crosses in front of the couch, that he hears it: a soft hum. It does not quite register with him the first time, but the second time he startles to the point of jumping. He looks to his left. Someone is sleeping on his frakking couch.

He swallows.

It is not  _someone._

It is her. It is Laura.

He does not have a clear memory of what must have been Cottle's visit to administer him the sedatives, but he is pretty sure she was not here when he fell asleep, or he would not have needed them. She was lost to him maybe forever and he was drowning in despair. They put him to sleep, now he wakes up and here she is. Just like that, although of course, nothing is ever that easy.

It is a miracle.

Everything in and about her is a miracle to him.

He approaches the couch silently, grabbing a blanket from a chair as he goes. Carefully, he sits beside her and spreads the blanket over her. Then he links his hands on his knees and contemplates her.

She is lying on her side; her chest rises and falls gently. Her face is half-buried in the cushion, her features seem relaxed. There is even a small smile about her lips that makes him smile in turn. He watches her profile: the line of her nose, the curve of her cheek, her powerful jaw, her lashes resting against her skin. Locks of fake hair from the wig, that she has not bothered to discard, frame her face. She is breathtakingly beautiful under the dim light; she seems so delicate like this, asleep and unguarded. You would almost forget that she is as tough as a rock; tougher than anyone he has ever met. It is all he can do to hold back from touching her to make sure she is real.

The prospect of losing her, of having to blow up that cylon ship with Laura in it, had overshadowed the joy of their reunion, of her admission. Leaving her a hostage aboard that hostile ship had been about as much as he could take; the sole thought of having to destroy it with Laura still on board had just been unbearable. He has no idea what will happen tomorrow, what new challenges and horrors they will be faced with; but for now, she is back, and she is unharmed. She is home, here with him and yes, now he can enjoy it at last. He can safely allow himself to remember her shaky voice as they reunited, her  _I love you_  so full of emotion that they almost drown in it. Now he can feel grateful at last because she has not been taken away from him; because she is back.

Laura stirs as if sensing a change in the air, or the weight of his regard. She lets out a hum and her eyes crack open. Bill smiles, waits for her to get back to reality, for reality to sink in. His smile spreads to his eyes as she, still oblivious to his presence, struggles to bring her surroundings back into focus. She covers her mouth with her hand to stifle a yawn.

'Laura.'

She stills for a second, then turns her head to the voice that has sounded so, so close. That beloved timbre she would have recognized anywhere. Her smile lights up the entire room. She glows with joy as their eyes lock. Bill marvels at how unguarded she allows herself to be with him now. It will take time for him to adjust to the wonder of it.

'Sorry. I woke you. I was just covering you with the blanket, was afraid you'd get cold.'

Laura blinks, clears her throat.

'How long have I slept?'

Her voice has this quality, both smooth and raspy, that only sleep can tinge it with.

'I was going to ask you the same question.' He chuckles.

He feels a pang of guilt. He has no clue about how long he has been knocked out. How long has he made her wait, too drugged to even hear the hatch open, to feel her steps across the room, to sense her presence?

When was the last time they both were allowed to fall asleep without bothering about the time anyway?

Their glances swim in one another, start a conversation of their own. There is so much to say and nothing is really necessary.

'It's good to have you back, Laura.'

She shifts and sits up folding her legs under her on the cushion. Her eyes are level with his now. She smiles at him.

'Lee brought us back. He did well. You can be proud of him.'

'I am. And grateful.'

They lock eyes again. She wants to talk about it, wants him to tell her, but she is not quite sure how to address it. However, his expression is holding back nothing; he seems to just be waiting for her to ask, almost expecting it already. Maybe even guessing that she already knows.

'What happened, Bill?'

She reaches out and lays both of her hands on his, willing her touch to comfort him.

Bill shakes his head and averts his eyes. His gaze lands on the rug and his features darken. Laura strokes the backs of his hands with her thumbs to reassure him.  _I'm not here to judge you. I just want to know._ He turns his palms upwards, wraps her hands in his.

'I just couldn't, Laura. I can't.' He looks up, meets her eyes again. His blue depths sparkle with feverish resolve. 'You ordered me to blow up that ship… You can't ask me to kill you, because that's the one thing I can't do. You're the only thing that keeps me going. As the… president, I know I might be disappointing you, but it's what it is.' He pauses. 'If you ever ask me that again, you need to know I won't do it.'

Laura is shaking her head, her eyes filled with unshed tears. Disappointed? Gods, no… Deeply sorry would be more accurate. Will she ever stop hurting this man, this man she loves more than her own life? Shifting her weight, she gets closer and winds her arms around his torso. It takes a split second for him to catch up, to envelope her in a tight embrace of his own.

Laura's voice is full of water.

'I'm sorry, Bill. I'm so sorry. This might be better, this truce Lee achieved, this deal... It might work. I can be wrong, you know. Gods, I can be so frakking wrong…'

She buries her face in the crook of his neck. She feels him shake once, twice, a couple more times before he lifts his head off her shoulder and draws back searching for her face. There are tracks of tears on his cheeks. She sniffs and brushes them away with her thumbs. Then she leaves her palms there, one on each side of his neck. She feels his holding her waist.

He is smiling. Despite everything she has done to him, despite all the fear and the pain she has put him through, despite the nervous breakdown and the bitterness and the tears he has just shed, he is giving her the tenderest smile.

'Are you staying?'

She smiles back.

'Yes.' She whispers, as if it were a secret.

He grunts, and nods.

'Then let's find you something to put on. It's too late to call your aide and you can't spend the night in those clothes.'

He rises from the couch and pulls at her hands to help her up. He leads her across the room and into his private area. He is still holding her hand and she lets him, and this is so new for her and it is almost overwhelming to feel so cherished. To feel she belongs to him without having to give up one ounce of the woman she is.

Actually, to feel more herself than she never did.

It hits her. It might have taken her a lifetime, surviving the loss of her entire family, terminal cancer and the end of the world, but Laura Roslin has finally found the place she was always meant to be.

He stops in front of his closet and releases her to skim through the hangers. After a few seconds, he produces a long cotton shirt. It is way too big for Laura's slender frame but it can serve her as a nightgown. He offers it to her.

'This may do.'

She examines the garment.

'Hmm. I think so.' She lifts her eyes and smiles. 'Thanks.'

She goes to the head to change. He sits on the couch and waits. He hears running water, the rustle of clothes… Every sound she makes behind that door sends a wave of joy that crashes on to him. Having her here... This right now, this is perfect.

A few minutes later, the door to the head opens and Laura appears: her own garments folded in one hand, the blanket hanging from the other, her legs showing from the knees down under the hem of the shirt. Her profile is dark against the light behind her. She turns it off pushing the switch with her elbow and pads into the room. She stops a few steps away from him, meets his eyes with a smirk. A flush spreads across her cheeks as he appreciates the view. There is mischief in her eyes.

'Looks better on you.' He solemnly declares.

Bill rises and crosses over to where she is standing. He strokes her jaw, kisses her forehead. Laura hums and closes her eyes. Then Bill draws back. Their eyes lock and exchange silent questions and answers. Both know the answers as well as the questions.

'Let's go to bed.' He says at last.

There is more to his suggestion that just 'It's time to sleep'. She knows what he means, what he is really asking. The time to pretend and be cautious is long gone; the time to make concessions to their positions, concessions that include chaste sleeping arrangements, is buried in the past. She wants him as close as he can possibly be. She gives him her eyes for him to read her answer.

He takes her folded clothes from her hand and sets them on the table next to them. Then he grabs the blanket she is still holding, wraps her in it and pulls her to him, embracing her. Her palms escape from the safe cocoon and slide across his back. Her face buries in his chest.

'Remind me again what was so terrible about us getting together. Something about our responsibilities, it was.'

There is mirth in her voice. She no longer gives a frak, or he does not know Laura Roslin.

His reply reverberates against her temple.

'I can be wrong too, you know.'

A sound escapes her. It might be a giggle or a sob.

He tugs at her waist to make her draw back and look at him. He watches her earnestly.

'You can't go to sleep with this on.'

His thumb and forefinger are fiddling with a tuft of fake hair.

Her face falls.

'No. I can't.'

She had hoped she would be able to postpone the moment when he would see her bald a little further. She had hoped that maybe she could get rid of the wig once they were in bed and the room was dark and thus he would not see much…

She should know better than underestimate his capacity for attention.

'Let me.'

Laura leans her head forward, huffs despite herself. She does not want to reject him. As much as she would like to postpone this indefinitely, she knows it is necessary. She feels his fingers trace the edges of the wig and figure out the best way to tug at it and unhook it from her head without scratching her skin. He is gentler than she never was herself. Then he sets the wig on the table on top of her clothes and slides a finger under her chin to make her look up.

She lifts her head much to her regret. Her eyes stay stubbornly shut, her lips pursed tightly in a thin line, her jaw set.

'Laura, please, look at me.'

She lets out a ragged breath. Game over. She cannot deny him; especially not when he is treating her with such care and affection.

She opens her eyes with all the green liquid they are barely holding and lets him read in.

The force of the love in his gaze hits her so hard it makes her stumble.

She felt so frustrated, so angry with herself for having nothing better to offer. So insecure, so afraid to disappoint him. So sure he would hate what he was about to see, no matter how much he loves her. Again, she should have known better. She should have trusted him more. This is Bill.

He stays silent for a few long moments, watching her intently, as if he were making a mental note of every tiny detail of her face, of this new look of her that he seems to love as much as the others. Then he lifts one hand to her head, lays his warm palm on it, strokes her baldness with his thumb just as he would have had there been hair instead. Just as he could still do at least a couple of times when she still had her trademark, gorgeous auburn locks.

With that simple gesture, he reconciles her with herself.

'Your hair is gone, but everything else is here. You're still here, Laura.'

Unable to hold his gaze any longer, Laura cuddles against his chest. She sniffs lightly, then lets out all the air in her lungs. Bill rocks them slowly, one hand wrapped around her waist, the other still warming up the exposed, soft skin of her head.

Drawing back just enough, his arm still around her waist holding her to him tightly, her head tucked against his shoulder, he guides her to their rack.


	4. Alive

Darkness.

Silence and darkness is all there seems to be. Only the bluish, tiny dots of the pilot lights that there are along all the ship's bulkheads at regular intervals even here, inside the Admiral's quarters: military purposes always override cozier, more personal considerations. Only the rumble of the engines,  _Galactica_ 's language; one that seeps into your bones until one day you find yourself loving it, not even needing to know what the ship is trying to say.

They have shed everything that is not indispensable, which means everything except themselves, his tank tops and pants, her makeshift nightgown and the blanket covering them. Laura's head is tucked against his shoulder; her hand rests on his chest, covered by his. There is a measure of comfort in the quietness of just lying next to each other; in breathing in one another's scents; in the closeness of their bodies that they craved for so long. Cuddled together under the blanket, they must look like one single body. It is very fitting, Laura finds.

Very fitting, indeed.

'Bill.' She whispers without moving in any way.

'Hmm.'

A few more seconds of silence. For effect maybe, for reflection too; also, because there is no hurry now.

'I'm yours.'

The hand that is stroking her back up and down stills itself halfway. She can hear his brain setting into motion.

A few more seconds slide by. She is not worried. She understands why this catches him off-guard. He probably never thought she would ever say those words to anyone, let alone to him. Laura Roslin is not anyone's possession. She used to think so herself, and still does. Now, suddenly, these words she just said no longer feel frightening. Suddenly, belonging has nothing to do with a sick drive for power that needs to be avoided at all costs. Belonging is having a place to call home.

Sometimes, home is not somewhere, but someone.

It almost takes her entire life for her to figure it out.

'And I'm yours.' He rasps at last, his hand resuming its gentle movement across her back.

So easy, for him too. He is just stating a fact; one he is more than okay with.

Laura rolls her head off his shoulder, lays her chin on his chest to look at him. In the shadows, her pupils glint with a feline sparkle. It would be frightening if it were not her.

She is up to something.

'I want to feel it.'

The blue in his eyes darkens; there is hurt at the bottom of those two deep oceans.

_Don't you feel it? Don't you know already?_

She waits in silence, waits for him to read the answer in her eyes. She hopes he will understand this primal ache, this deep longing, this compelling need, this sense of freedom; this wide horizon where there were thick, solid walls just yesterday. All of this, that always seemed too much, both emotionally and practically… Now, suddenly, all of this is not nearly enough. She craves to feel him at her very core, needs that powerful connection, needs to live in him, needs to give him it all, needs him to take every drop, to turn her into what she most wants to be with the sheer force of their passion.

A few moments later, Bill grunts his realization.

He lifts a hand, lays it against her cheek. She leans into his touch closing her eyes at the sensation, parts her lips to let out a soft gasp.

'So beautiful.' He says, looking at her intensely. 'I want you so much, Laura.'

She reads it in his eyes: as impossible as it seems to her that he wants this cancer-ridden body, he is telling the truth.

The hand that has been caressing her back over the nightgown slides upwards again, this time under it. Gentle fingers trace her hip, her waist, her shoulder blade, pushing the fabric as they go. They slide all the way down her spine. Laura arches into the touch; her lips part but no sound comes out. After a few more strokes, his arm wraps around her waist, claiming her sweetly and determinedly.

Holding her to him, Bill shifts his weight and rolls them over. Laura's eyes are pools of liquid fire looking up to him. She threads her fingers in the thickness of his hair. It feels safe and solid, as all of him is.

Bill kisses her lids, the tip of her nose, her jaw; leaves a trail of tiny bites down her long neck. His lips are dense and soft. Her eyes shut against the sensations, Laura lets him carry her away, shatter her little by little, piece by piece. This intensity is frightening, but he will pull her together again when the moment comes, of that she is sure. She trusts this man; this is the truth of her life that she is most sure about.

He treats her better than she never did.

She feels his lips brushing across hers, rolls her head on the pillow to meet him. His tongue probes, she grants him access. This is their first real kiss, Laura realizes as his gentle insistence elicits a moan, then another; as their tongues dance, as he explores and deepens and drinks from her. This is their first real kiss, and it is delicious, and intoxicating, and she does not know how she went on without this all this time. Bill's palm is gently holding her head in place so she cannot escape his tender assault, and she has no intention to do so anyway. All the willpower she used to keep a safety distance between them for years she is using now to drown into him. Let there be no limits signaling where Laura ends and Bill begins.

He pushes the buttons of her shirt through their holes one by one. He parts it. His right arm slides under her neck, holding her shoulders; his left hand strokes her breasts, her belly, her waist; his mouth demands to replace it, to be allowed to savor that newly mapped land. In absence of light, he learns her by touch, by taste, and learns every detail, every curve and valley, every smooth plane, every imperfection which is never a flaw in her but just a feature. Laura whimpers, wriggles despite herself. Blood pumps in her ears, her gut rumbles, her legs shake, her hips rock.

He is already taking everything she desired to give him.

He keeps going down slowly, and when he reaches his target he stays there pleasuring her, undoing her. She is not sure she can take it, but then again, if she cannot, so be it. He is focused and intense yet so very tender, as if there is nothing else but her worth his attention in the entire universe.

As a matter of fact, there is nothing.

When he finally slides inside her, she shuts her eyes with force against the emotion, lets out a ragged breath. A tear breaks free, he kisses it away. She buries her hands in his hair, holds him in place, sinks into his gaze, smiles lovingly. Then she winds her arms around his shoulders. He starts to rock them slowly.

'I'm yours.' He mumbles as he thrusts inside her. 'I'm yours, Laura.'

She arches with his every stroke, abandons herself to him entirely. Way beyond words, she moans her reply among the fog clouding her mind. His heart thumps faster and faster; its strength courses through her body, and now she is full of life, she glows with an energy that is neither hers, nor his: it is theirs and it is the energy of the universe itself. She gasps, and whimpers, and fists the sheets, and rakes her nails along his sides, and clings to his hair, and holds his beloved face between her palms.

This is what she never had. What she always lived for.

This is what alive feels like.


End file.
